


Invoquer L'inconnu

by vipjuly



Series: Débridé [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Count Lecter - Freeform, Creature Fic, Creature Hannibal Lecter, Creature Will Graham, Dark Will Graham, F/M, Genderfluid Will Graham, M/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Jack Crawford, period fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29405184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Curious murders, the likes of which never seen before, have Detective Jack Crawford up in arms. Their strange nature leads him to strange itself to ask for help: Count Lecter graciously loans his Sweet William to the police department, his expertise and sharp mind precisely what they need to solve the case. But when it's revealed that the bodies are sacrificial in nature, Jack's entire world turns on head, and he wars with everything he knows in order to catch a killer.The more they learn, the more Jack is sure Count Lecter and Sweet William are hiding something from him. With a killer on the loose, he can only afford to focus on one thing at a time. What happens, however, when the two intersect...?
Relationships: Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Débridé [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130201
Comments: 40
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Could be read as a standalone but I, of course, highly recommending getting familiar with this 'verse.  
> This story has 5 chapters and will be updated regularly.

The Lecter Estate was a surprisingly sprawling piece of land, for being so close to the city. Situated on ten acres, it mainly boasted forests and a single river that cut through the property. A gravel drive led up to a cobblestone rotunda with an antique-looking Roman fountain in the center, an area where carriages and motorcars were stopped at a porte-cochère before one could gain access to a courtyard and the mansion itself. A true Victorian gothic building, something that seemed to be imported directly from Europe, it was as dark and intimidating as it could be at first glance. It had turrets on the flanks and spikes along the gutters, large windows made of clear glass with stained accents. The double doors were heavy oak and looked almost out of place on the mansion, fortress-like and only opened for visitors passing through. 

Detective Jack Crawford glowered as his carriage rumbled up the drive and swung around the fountain. At the porte-cochère the carriage stopped, the horses chuffing. A servant, a severe-looking Asian woman named Chiyoh that Jack absolutely _loathed_ communicating with, greeted him with a nod as he exited the carriage. He told the driver to wait, then followed Chiyoh through the small, Romanesque structure that opened up to a fragrant, vividly colored garden. Following her silent feet down the main path, he turned his collar up against the chill wind that arose. It was sunny and beautiful everywhere, and though the sun shone on Lecter Estate, none of its warmth did. 

One of the large oaken doors opened, Count Hannibal Lecter greeting Jack with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Detective Crawford,” the man greeted politely. “I received your message. What can I help you with?” 

“May we talk inside?” Jack said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. Count Lecter was a slippery one. There was something… off, about him. Something that Jack could never precisely pick out. 

“Of course.” Count Lecter nodded at Chiyoh, who disappeared without a sound. 

The entryway to the mansion was vast and decorated in white marble. Jack was a clean-cut man, but being in the mansion always made him feel some sort of dirty. He ventured no further, merely wanting privacy to speak with the Count. Speaking with the man was enough to put Jack on edge, but venturing deeper into his home was something he avoided altogether.

“There’s been a murder,” he finally said. 

Count Lecter raised an eyebrow mildly. He was dressed in a powder-blue suit with a pale yellow cravat, his tan skin healthy and slightly flushed with a youth forfeiting his near middle-age. “That tends to be the theme of your job, Detective.” 

Clenching his jaw, Jack continued. “There were some interesting carvings marked into the flesh of the victim. I was wondering if you could take a look at the body- give me a professional opinion.”

“A professional opinion of what?” Count Lecter asked, interested now. His ego knew no bounds.

“No ordinary person committed these crimes.”

“Crimes.” Count Lecter repeated. The corner of his lip quirked, revealing a sharp fang. “There have been multiple killings?” 

“Which is why I would like your help.” 

“I’m afraid I cannot lend myself to the tawdry work of the local police.” Count Lecter said with all the arrogance in the world. Jack was about to protest, when Count Lecter gave a contemplative hum. “However…” he turned slightly, barely raising his voice. “Sweet William?” 

Sweet William materialized from another room. He was wearing a Victorian dress fit for a queen, fitted tight over his corset, blush in color and trimmed with black lace. The collar was up to his throat, concealing his adam’s apple and highlighting the attractive dip from his neck to the slope of his shoulders. The sleeves were long, the skirts brushed the floor, and he wore matching black lace gloves that disappeared under the hem of the sleeves. His dark, wild hair was pushed back from his face and held fast with pretty black barrettes, one of them with a lace detailing that covered part of his hair. His skin was porcelain, his lips were glossed, his eyes resplendently bright with the aid of brown kohl liner. 

If Count Lecter and the mansion put Jack on edge, Sweet William was capable of unraveling his sanity on sight. Jack felt greatly uncomfortable around the young man--not for the manner of his dress, or anything that the average man might find odd about him. 

No, it was those damned rules Count Lecter had in place. Initially Jack had thought them ridiculous--had thought Count Lecter to be quite stuffy and rude to send a telegram prior to his first arrival to the mansion informing him of those rules. Count Lecter was very thorough in making sure everyone knew of them; if he didn’t send word ahead, then his intimidating lady-servant, Chiyoh, would read them off of a parchment scroll like last rites to whomever was visiting. 

And it wasn’t even the rules alone that made Jack squirm. It was that, without even realizing it, his brain had automatically conceded to the rules. He only spoke to Sweet William out of necessity, he never touched him, and he especially avoided looking into those eyes; those eyes that, on the one occasion he caught them, nearly burned him from the inside out. 

“You’re not serious,” Jack finally found his voice, narrowing his eyes at Count Lecter. “I asked for _your_ help.”

“You’ll find that Sweet William has a skillset that even I can not claim to boast about,” Count Lecter said smoothly.

“Count Lecter, with all due respect, your ward is uneducated and, as far as I can tell, not familiar with our laws and procedures.” 

The silence that followed that statement was cavernous. Immediately, Jack knew he had said the wrong thing. The echo of his voice in the foyer died quickly, the grand space slowly starting to close in. Shadows licked in from the corners, the rooms beyond darkening to blackness. Only the marble seemed to emit an eerie light, light that refracted Count Lecter’s blood-red eyes as he sent Jack a cool glare. 

“Sweet William is a fast learner.” 

Taking his hat off of his head, Jack wrung it in his hands, wrought with indecision. Count Lecter, as an alienist, was the most qualified person Jack could bring in on the investigation. A murderer with a sick mind needed to be weeded out of the usual suspects by a professional, someone educated to look for the disturbance. He had no idea how Sweet William would fulfill such a role. 

Count Lecter leaned in to Sweet William, the fingers of one of his elegant hands encircling the young man’s wrist loosely. His lips touched Sweet William’s ear as he spoke. Jack looked away, feeling as though he were intruding on something private. Then again, all interactions between those two were always at some level of intimacy, uncomfortable to anyone present. The clicking of Count Lecter’s shoes retreating had Jack’s gaze turning back, a sigh trapped behind his teeth as he saw he was now alone with Sweet William. 

The easy smile that spread on the young man’s lips looked to be stained with poison, glossy and full as they were. He was clean-shaven, youthful and lovely as the fresh rose the color of his dress imitated. 

“Shall we?” Sweet William murmured. 

“Perhaps you would change into something more comfortable,” Jack suggested. “The body is still fresh.” He was trying to be thoughtful of Sweet William’s beautiful clothing, but the young man ignored him as he stepped past. His feet were bare, adorned with silver and jewels, not making a single noise in the echoey marble foyer. A suggestion of shoes would probably also be ignored. 

Counting backwards from ten, Jack followed him out. Chiyoh greeted Sweet William, deftly exchanging the lace attached to one of his barrettes with a black traveling hat as he walked, not missing a beat with her feet or hands. Her fingers pulled the lace from the brim, concealing Sweet William’s features, and then she was pulling the door of the carriage open for him. Gracefully, Sweet William entered the carriage, dress carefully bunched in his hands. Jack made to follow, but the door was slammed shut in his face, Chiyoh’s narrow, dark eyes pinning him. 

“Ride with the driver,” her steely voice commanded. 

Huffing out a noise of disbelief, Jack put his hat on his head and grumbled as he stepped up the front of the carriage to join the driver, muttering, “Damn these rules.” 

The driver pulled away from the porte-cochère, Jack wrapping his arms around his barrel chest as he glowered and tucked his chin down to try and preserve some warmth. He knew this whole thing was going to be a nuisance. He hadn’t been sure if Count Lecter would aid him, but he certainly hadn’t predicted he would send Sweet William in his stead. 

This was likely going to turn out to be more trouble than it was worth.

\--

The murder scene had been left untouched since its discovery. A well to do man in a well to do neighborhood had been found by his neighbor that morning, gutted and strung up in his kitchen. The man had no wife, no children, and as far as anyone could guess: no enemies. Jack had seen many a gruesome sight in his days as a policeman, but this quickly shot to the top of the list. The man was trussed up like a pig, and was no doubt killed like one. Aside from the kitchen, the rest of the house was immaculate. Untouched. 

Jack allowed Sweet William to walk ahead of him, only telling him that the kitchen was where the body was. If Sweet William were to prove himself worthy, Jack would give him free reign, if only to see what he would do. Bare feet silently moving along the hardwood floors, Sweet William had his hands clasped in front of him, the lace decorating the brim of his hat keeping his features hidden. If it weren't for the bright color of his dress, one would think him a widow, come to wish her husband a final farewell. 

It was interesting to watch Sweet William. He touched nothing, and observed everything. Jack had the distinct impression that Sweet William was memorizing everything he was seeing, his brain imprinting the images better than any drawing or photograph. His skirts, though fluffy and layered, didn't even swish as he walked slowly through the home. 

In the living room he browsed knick knacks. He tilted his head slightly to read the titles of the dusty volumes packed on to a well-worn bookshelf. He bent slightly to sniff at the fireplace, then used his bare big toe, a small, glittering ruby glued to the center of its manicured nail, to nudge at the flue lever. He continued on, leaning in to sniff at the gauche wallpaper decorating the room. Still silent as death, he then started down the main hallway to the kitchen. 

All the while Jack watched, fascinated. 

Briefly, Sweet William stopped at the bottom of the staircase, peering upwards. At the top of the staircase was a gaudy portrait of the man with what looked like half a dozen mongrels.

"Where are the dogs?" Sweet William asked.

"That's what you notice?" Jack barked. "For the love of God, Sweet William, they aren't the priority!" 

Sweet William's head turned toward Jack. Through the black lace hanging from the brim of his hat his eyes were bright, but they were not deadly as they usually were. The veil allowed Jack to comfortably meet his gaze.

Saying nothing more, Sweet William glided to the kitchen. He paused at the entryway, taking in the scene. The body strung up didn't seem to bother him but he said, under his breath, "God is not here, Detective Crawford."

A chill went down Jack's spine.

Casually the young man entered the kitchen, his gloved hands still delicately folded before him. His demure posture made him look soft, but Jack knew him to be anything but. He avoided stepping in the pools of blood and viscera with his bare feet, unclasping his hands to delicately pull his skirts up. He circled the victim, and from this distance Jack couldn't see through the veil.

"Leave me," Sweet William suddenly said.

"What?" 

"Leave me. I cannot tell you who the murderer is, but I can glean the how and why, and from there we can build upon our profile."

" _Profile_?" Jack repeated. He couldn't see the young man's glare, but he could feel it. Gritting his teeth, he cursed under his breath and left the kitchen, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. He exited the house to join the two policemen outside who had been containing the crime scene, the look on his face dark enough to make them hesitate to talk.

But as usual, curiosity won out.

"Who's the dame?" Jackson asked.

"Not a dame," Jack replied stiffly.

"Where's the alienist?" O'Doherty inquired.

"Wait-" the first man snapped his fingers. "You went to see Count Lecter, right?"

Realization dawned on O'Doherty's features. He paled, then swallowed the frog in his throat. "Was that-?"

"You know the rules," Jack barked. "Obey them."

"But what's he doing here?" Jackson hissed. News of Sweet William’s presence put the men on edge, as predicted. 

"Helping," Jack replied, though he couldn't even make it sound like he believed it to be true.

Jackson and O'Doherty exchanged a look. Jack didn't reply, and so the three stood in silence for ten minutes. Breathing steadily, unbuttoning his overcoat when he started to overheat in the morning sun, he wondered what Sweet William could possibly be doing, alone with a dead body that he barely even blinked at.

"Thank you."

All three policemen nearly jumped out of their boots when Sweet William's dulcet tone suddenly came from behind them. Swirling around, they were shocked to see that Sweet William had come up behind them without making a single noise. Jack knew his bare feet lent to his stealth, but to be _absolutely_ unnoticed was astounding. 

Lips quirking in faint amusement, Sweet William inclined his head politely to Jackson and O'Doherty, who nearly fell over themselves in their haste to bow to him. Huffing in annoyance, Jack spoke loudly. 

"What happened? What did you find?"

"The symbols on the victim's back," Sweet William said, his voice soft and yet strangely clinical, "were made by a knife made of sharpened, polished bone. The symbols are archaic, but not unknown."

Jack's thin patience stretched with Sweet William's insight, his brow softening with interest. "How do you know this?"

"The cuts do not have the neat edges of a metal blade," Sweet William said. He clasped his laced hands in front of himself demurely. "The depth and strength of the cuts, however, are indicative of a very sturdy, sharpened material. The slightly jagged edges are similar to what a wild animal's tooth would leave behind. The cuts go deeper than any tooth I've seen, but if I were to make a guess, I would say that the knife is one half of a mandible, sharpened and fitted with a handle for ease of use."

All three policemen fell silent with wonder.

Sweet William continued, "As for the symbols, anyone with any knowledge of the occult would be able to tell you that they are part of a summoning spell."

"Only part?" Jackson asked, his voice filled with confusion and awe.

Sweet William gave a curt nod, "I suspect there will be more victims in order to complete the spell."

"Witchcraft!" Jack barked in disbelief. The police officers flinched. Sweet William did not move. "You had me fooled for a moment, Sweet William, but no longer."

"This is not an argument as to whether or not witchcraft is real, Detective Crawford. It is about the fact that our killer is under the impression that it is- and that alone will help us determine who he is."

Jack felt his face reddening with fury. Jackson and O'Doherty casually stepped away from him, suddenly very interested in the front garden of the house. His hands fisted at his sides, trembling with ill-concealed anger.

"I can't _believe_ this," Jack growled. "You're telling me that a maniac is trying to make a summoning spell using human bodies as parchment?"

"Most summoning spells require sacrifice of some kind." Sweet William was utterly unaffected by Jack's outbursts. "If the killer does not know what specific sacrifice is necessary, then he will do his best to cover his bases and simply commit the most heinous of crimes. The safest bet would be bloodletting. The most serious sacrifice is a human life."

Putting his hands on his face, Jack tried to control his breathing. Sweet William's calm demeanor and his resistance to Jack's anger was infuriating all on its own. But, Jack had known this crime would be unlike anyone had ever seen, the moment he saw the body. Something strange was afoot. Dropping his hands from his face, he regarded Sweet William in a new light.

Using the strange… to catch the strange? 

It could work.

In fact, Jack thought as he reviewed the intelligent deductions Sweet William had made-- it _would_ work.

Looking at the young man in front of him with new eyes, it finally dawned on Jack why Count Lecter had sent Sweet William in his stead. The boy was strange, indeed, and had an odd way about him but… he assessed the wounds of the body quicker than Jack, or anyone else could have. And the symbols- Jack would have never guessed the occult. The rules were easy to follow when Sweet William was hidden behind the lace veil, and though his officers were flustered at the sight of him, Jack would well keep them in line.

"Boy," Jack said, feeling a rare smile grace his lips. "I think this could work."

He saw Sweet William's glossy lips tilt, the corner of a fang catching the sunlight. "I think so."

\--

"Sweet William!" Beverly Katz looked all too pleased to see the young man. She was wearing a long white coat, rubber gloves, and protective goggles as she stood next to the cart where the victim's body was laid.

In the room were two other top-rated scientists, Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller. The two were specifically bound to police work, analyzing dead bodies and determining cause of death. Beverly Katz was a freelancing scientist and did mostly as she pleased--but whenever an odd case came across Zeller and Price's desk, they invited her in.

"Miss Katz," Sweet William greeted, looking pleased to see her in turn.

Zeller looked momentarily stunned to see Sweet William, and then immediately looked miffed. Price, however, cheerfully stepped forward to bow.

"Greetings, Sweet William! It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

Sweet William, who kept the veil over his features, tensed mildly at the jubilant greeting.

"Calm down," Jack scolded.

Price looked chagrined. "Sorry." He stayed cheery as ever. "Beverly has told us so much about you."

"Has she," Sweet William glanced over at her.

Jack was shocked to see her not even flinch at his gaze. She said, "C'mon, you're one of my best friends. And Count Lecter's meals are legendary. I have to make _someone_ jealous"

"You two…" Jack gestured between them. "...are familiar with each other?"

"Miss Katz is invigorating company," Sweet William said. He glided on silent feet to the gurney. 

"He's an amazing problem solver," Beverly said, moving with him. She handed him a pair of rubber gloves, which he put on over the black lace decorating his pale hands. She sent Jack a raised brow. "Pretty smart of you to bring him on."

"Ah," Jack nearly flushed with anger and shame, clearing his throat and stepping closer. "Yes."

"So: I've reviewed the wounds," Beverly said.

"They're consistent with your report of it being a sharpened bone," Zeller said, though he sounded slightly remiss to agree with Sweet William. 

"It's fascinating," Price piped up. He was standing almost too close to Sweet William as he pointed at the victim's stomach. "The size of the jaw necessary to make this depth in one swipe has to be huge."

"We're guessing bear," Beverly supplied.

"There aren't any bears near here," Jack said, crossing his arms. "Not for hundreds of miles."

"Trappers are still active in the mountains," Zeller said. "They bring fur and meat to sell in the cities."

"Have you had bear meat? Delicious," Price hummed happily. 

"Not as tasty as bison," Zeller pointed out.

Price frowned. "Yes, but we shouldn't hunt what our Native American brothers and sisters depend on for surviv-"

" _The identification_ ," Jack interrupted through gritted teeth.

Properly accosted, Price immediately said, "George Thompson. Age forty-two. Single, no children. He was a newspaper editor."

"Official cause of death?"

"Exsanguination via disembowelment."

"Did you know that after disemboweling, a person can stay alive for-"

"FLIP THE BODY OVER," Jack roared.

Price and Zeller hastily scrambled to comply. Once the body was flipped over and given another wipe down, the symbols were much easier to see without the clotted blood and dim lighting of his kitchen. Leaning over the body, Jack examined the carvings. 

"Do we know which… spell this is?" Jack asked, hating the concession that some psychopath was out there trying to raise literal hell. 

Beverly shook her head. "It's not in any occult book I've ever read." Jack arched a brow. She rolled her eyes, "What, like you've never been curious."

"It is not from this region," Sweet William said. He traced a finger over the first symbol, almost tenderly. "This is old magic."

"Do you know what it is?" Beverly asked.

Sweet William withdrew his hand. "I've seen variants of it. These symbols are attached to many gods. Unfortunately from this portion of the spell I can't tell which one our killer is trying to raise."

"Gods. Not demons?" Jack clarified.

The young man pulled off the rubber gloves, setting aside in a metal tray. His attention was on Beverly. "There were traces of herbs and flowers at the scene that don't grow natively here."

"Yes," Beverly nodded to another table.

"Do you know where they're from, yet?"

"Not yet," she sighed, frustrated. "I'll have to go to the university to ask the botany professor about them, but I'll get it figured out."

"Part of the ritual," Sweet William explained once he saw the furrow of Jack's brows. Then, “You said there had been multiple killings?” 

“Oh!” Price perked up again. “Just one other that we think might be tied to this one. The victim also had strange carvings in his back, but they don’t look anything like this.” 

“Do you still have the body?” asked Sweet William. 

“It’s in an arsenic bath,” said Zeller. “It was discovered two days ago.” 

“May I see it?” 

Zeller looked entirely distrustful, but the expression was there and gone in the blink of an eye. Jack knew that Sweet William was aware of Zeller’s distaste, but he was cool and detached as ever, almost creepily so. Zeller led Sweet William to the next room of the lab, leaving Jack with Beverly and Price.

“He takes a bit of getting used to,” Beverly said conspiratorially. She offered Jack a reassuring smile, her pretty features soft and warm. “But his mind is… incredible. If anyone can solve this case, it’s him.” 

Jack took a handkerchief from his pocket to mop at his face, letting out an aggrieved sigh. "Get to work."

"Take me home," Sweet William said as he re-entered the main lab.

Jack scowled. "Call a cab."

Sweet William's mouth ticked downward in an appealing moue. Clenching his jaw, Jack muttered under his breath and bustled out of the lab, feeling Sweet William's presence behind him. Once out on the curb he whistled sharply, a single-horse buggy rolling up. Nearly ripping the door off its hinges Jack gestured for Sweet William to enter. The young man did, filled with grace and infinite leisure, making no rush to get away from the clearly irate detective. 

Just before he could slam the door shut, Sweet William put a restraining hand on it. Shocked at the strength hidden in the young man's delicate frame, Jack looked up at the veil covering his face.

"This case will be… odd," Sweet William warned. "Will you be prepared?"

"I'll be whatever I need to be," Jack groused.

Sweet William's brow narrowed. "Your behavior today was rather ignorant, Detective Jack. You are about to be humbled by parts of the world unknown to you."

The blunt manner in which Sweet William spoke shot through Jack like a bullet. He tensed, doing his best to calm down. "I'll remind you once, Sweet William, that I am the detective in charge."

"And I will remind you once, Detective Jack, that it is you who sought our help in the first place." Sweet William's delicately gloved hand slipped down to the handle, grasping it to slam the door shut in Jack's face. 

The buggy took off, leaving Jack on the curb, angry and chagrined. Sweet William was right. This was beyond Jack's normal range of agency. He was dealing with something of the likes no one in the city had seen. He had been right to reach out to Count Lecter, and the alienist had been right to suggest Sweet William for help. 

Damn the rules, and damn Sweet William's strange, haughty attitude. 

Damn that Jack needs him.


	2. Chapter 2

Most of the time Sweet William unnerved Jack with his coolness. There was always something lurking within the young man--something wild and untameable. Jack considered himself a strong-willed man, someone who fought tooth and nail to get to where he was, not only in the police department but just where he was in general, in life. Being a Black man was difficult enough. Oftentimes when he arrived on a scene no one took him seriously until he showed his credentials, and even then, the poncy white people of this city _reluctantly_ accepted his help. The police commissioner trusted Jack Crawford with his life and promoted him on merit and dedication--but the rest of the city was having a difficult time catching up. This, among other difficulties caused by the color of his skin, had hardened him properly, and he thought himself a rather formidable person with a spine made of steel.

Sweet William, though. Sweet William--for lack of a better term--creeped him out. 

The young man had two sides, though he only bothered to showcase one of them. The Sweet William he gave to the world at the ready was calm, collected; his words were intelligent beyond comparison, his tongue sharp and his wit quick. He was elegant and smooth, he moved with grace any sane woman admired. For all of his grace and beauty, this side of Sweet William had an air of formality that kept most people--even Detective Jack Crawford--on their toes. He was icy. Untouchable in every sense of the word. He folded his hands delicately, spoke quietly but firmly, and the gravitational pull around him felt like being bowled over by tornado-level winds. 

The side that Sweet William kept locked up tight was the exact opposite. Jack had only seen it once; he was unsure what triggered it, and wasn’t likely to find out. Sweet William had been slightly twitchy, skin flushed with a thin layer of sweat. His fingers had trembled. His cool demeanor had been reduced to mumbles and sharp twists of sarcasm. Used to the polite, though direct, side of Sweet William, Jack had been totally caught off guard. Sweet William had still been unnaturally intelligent, but he seemed frayed around the edges, like he was a creature trapped inside a human’s body, trying to keep the flesh stitched together in a sorry attempt to keep itself caged. Jack had only caught a glimpse of this side of him once, perhaps a year ago when he had dropped by to ask Count Lecter a question about one of his former patients.

Count Lecter had ushered Jack out of the mansion rather quickly. 

Jack often thought about that lesser known side of Sweet William. He wondered which was his true self. He wondered which he would prefer. 

No doubt that no matter which side Sweet William showed, he would still shred Jack’s last bits of sanity.

\--

The next crime scene was more disturbed than the last. The victim, Chand Willemsen, age thirty-four, had fought back. Furniture legs had scraped over the floor, initial blood spatter had dripped across the parquet, tables and chairs had been knocked over. Willemsen was hung by his ankles in the kitchen, covered in the blood that spilled from his torn gut. The message calling Jack to the scene had been brief, but he had an idea of what was waiting for him.

Jack had sent a telegram to Sweet William, instead of picking him up. He would not be humiliated again--he rode in the official police carriage with Jackson and O’Doherty, comfortably in the cab. When they pulled up to the house he was surprised to see Sweet William waiting for him, standing on the front stoop. 

Sweet William was wearing another traveling hat, this time red in color, lace hanging from the brim. Jack was thankful; he could get the sensation of making eye contact without _actually_ making eye contact. As last time, Sweet William was wearing a beautiful dress, a darker shade of red than his hat, silk glistening in the afternoon sun. The sleeves were long, the hem of them extending onto his hand and holding fast to his middle fingers with a ring of fabric. Black lace decorated the dress in pretty patterns. The neckline dipped sweet-heart style, nearly giving the illusion of feminine curves. The corset he was wearing cinched him so small, Jack wondered how he could breathe, let alone move. But Sweet William was as capable and elegant as ever. 

Jackson and O’Doherty were quick to bow and murmur greetings. If the purpose of their meeting weren’t so grave, he might be amused at their fumblings in the face of Sweet William. Even men who claimed to fancy only women still found themselves arrested by Sweet William’s beauty. By sheer strength alone, as well as the fact that Count Lecter and Sweet William were annoying on their own, Jack was wholly unaffected by Sweet William. He supposed that was why Count Lecter was so willing to release him into his care. 

“Hello, Detective Crawford,” Sweet William greeted. His voice was regal, as it usually was, but it seemed a little less airy than normal. 

“Sweet William,” Jack returned. “You remember Jackson and O’Doherty.” 

From behind crimson lace Sweet William’s eyes darted to the men briefly, before his gaze quite clearly dropped. Odd, Jack thought. Typically Sweet William would pin anyone to the spot with his heavy eyes. He hadn’t even really looked at Jack. Would today be the day that the rare side of Sweet William appeared? 

“Have you been inside?” asked Jack. 

“Yes,” Sweet William said. His fingers idly wrung together where they lay clasped over his skirts. “There weren't many places I could walk without getting blood on my feet. You should go in and make a preliminary report before I enter. Then, I will go fully inside.” 

Jack shouldn’t be surprised at the fact that Sweet William didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene, but he couldn’t help it. He had to remind himself that while he and Sweet William might not get along swimmingly, the young man was still a professional despite not being formally trained. It was at this moment that Jack truly felt that Sweet William was an excellent addition to the team, even if he was just a consultant working pro-bono.

“We’ll be out soon,” he said. As he passed by Sweet William the fatherly urge to pat his shoulder came and went like a whisper on the breeze. He knew better. Without even knowing about the damn rules his body and brain already put the boundaries in place. 

Still, though. Seeing Sweet William twitchy and uncomfortable stirred something strange within him. 

Inside the house was a mess. The message Jack had gotten describing the event had been very tame compared to what was actually inside. Even Sweet William had downplayed the atrocity. There was blood from floor to ceiling, covering furniture and broken glass and tables. The stench was… well. Jack pulled a kerchief from his pocket and held it over his nose as he and the officers picked their way through the mess. He knew his men’s boot treads, as well as his own, so it would be easy to eliminate their presence later on. Jackson gagged a little- Jack followed his gaze to see the victim’s intestines strung up along the staircase banister like a garish version of Christmas garland, the coagulated blood frozen in drips down the length of it, little berries accentuating each high point like some garish attempt at holly. They ventured farther into the house until they stepped into the kitchen, Willemsen immortalized as he hung from the chandelier with common rope, his face frozen in eternal horror. 

O’Doherty let out a blustery sigh, lifting his hat to wipe at his shiny forehead. His accent was thick with emotion when he said, “Two murders with the same attributes? What kind of sick…” 

Jack looked around, committing the scene of the crime to his memory as best as possible. He turned to Jackson. “On your way out to get Sweet William, wipe up as much blood as possible to clear a path.” He took a dish towel off of the stove. Jackson took the towel and hurried away from the gory sight. Sighing, Jack put his hands in the pocket of his coat. “Who was the responding officer? Their preliminary report was rubbish. This scene is way more violent than described.”

“That would be…” O’Doherty checked his notebook. He raised a brow. “Ah. It seems that Officer Kerr took the initial report from a witness. He didn’t actually come inside.”

“A WITNESS?” Jack barked.

O’Doherty admirably barely blinked at the loud outburst. “Aye, sir. That’s what it says.” 

“Kerr let a _witness_ leave the scene-” Just then Sweet William entered slowly, his chin ticking this way and that as his eyes no doubt catalogued the scene. Against his will Jack’s voice lowered to a tolerable level. “Jackson, go find Officer Kerr and bring him back here. I want to know who the witness was.”

“Sir.” Jackson left, giving Sweet William a wide berth and knocking into a chair on his way out of the kitchen. 

Looking at Sweet William with a slightly critical eye, Jack felt some tension bleed from his shoulders. “We’ll give you the room.” 

He and O’Doherty returned to the front of the house. Sweet William hadn’t left a single footprint in the carnage; Jackson had done a decent job wiping up the blood, but Jack was still surprised that not a single ounce had gotten on Sweet William’s feet to transfer through the house. Sometimes he was sure Sweet William’s feet weren’t on the ground at all. 

Shaking those thoughts from his head, Jack and O’Doherty moved down the steps to stand in the front garden. It was another beautiful day, mid-morning, the sun climbing higher in the sky. So far the two murders had occurred either very late-night or very early-morning. The body was no doubt meant to be discovered first thing by whomever was unfortunate enough to enter the house. Aside from his name, they didn’t know much about Willemsen. 

O’Doherty lit up a cigar. Jack wrinkled his nose slightly, but otherwise didn’t say anything. Three dead bodies in the span of a week. If he smoked, he would light up as well. They stood pensively until Sweet William’s voice called out to them, this time the officers only slightly surprised at his arrival. 

“The wounds are consistent with the previous bodies,” Sweet William said. He was still looking at the ground, or over Jack’s shoulder as he spoke. He lifted an elegant hand to fiddle idly with the lace of his hat, ensuring that it was indeed covering his eyes. “It’s the continuation of the spell.” 

“Miss Katz said that the spell is different from witchcraft,” Jack said. He remembered her excitement as she told him of her trip to the university. “At least, no witches that have ever been in America.” 

“This magic is older than modern America,” Sweet William agreed. He seemed to hesitate a moment, then asked, “Did you find its origin?” 

“Not yet,” said Jack. 

Nodding with a slight twitch of his head, Sweet William smoothed the front of his dress unnecessarily. It drew attention to the thin cut of his waist. Jack was fairly sure the boy wasn’t even breathing, the corset so tight. He couldn’t see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Maybe his corset was too tight and affecting his concentration, Jack mused. 

“The incisions were made with the same bone knife. It is surely part of the ritual. The killer… he won’t stop until it is complete. Until he has summoned what he is looking for.” 

“He’s going to be pretty upset when it doesn’t work,” Jack huffed with amusement.

Now he could feel Sweet William's gaze cut into him. “Just because you have never witnessed magic, Detective Crawford, does not disqualify its existence.” 

“You can’t be serious,” said Jack, voice filled with disbelief.

“It’s unwise to discount that which you have not personally experienced.”

“So am I to continue this investigation under the impression that if the killer succeeds, there will be a demon roaming the Earth?” Jack barked a laugh. “Spare me, Sweet William. I thought you were a man of logic.” 

“And I thought you were a man of honor,” Sweet William nearly spit in reply. His elegance and manners were on a thin tether. If Jack provoked him any further, he would snap, and there was no telling what the result of that would be. 

Clenching his jaw, Jack gestured expansively. “What would you have me do?” 

“Capture the killer,” Sweet William said, “and stop the summoning. Else this city--and the whole world--is doomed.” 

“If--and that’s _if_ \--we are dealing with a man using old magic to summon a creature, what makes you think I could stop it?” 

Primly, Sweet William smoothed his dress, though his fingers still twitched oddly. “By catching the killer… and killing him.” 

At that, Jack’s mouth fell open. “Murder. Murder the killer. Without a trial, without a conviction.” 

“As long as the killer breathes, he is closer to his end goal.” 

Scrubbing a hand over his features, Jack did his best to stifle the annoyed groan building in the back of his throat. “Sweet William, I brought you on because Count Lecter said you would be reliable.” 

“Have I not been?” This time the venom that laced Sweet William’s voice sizzled on Jack’s very skin. He recoiled, and Sweet William went on, “Your man is in his late twenties, educated--on his own, not by any institution--and believes that he can harness the will of the supernatural. He will have consulted with the very professor Miss Katz visited. He knows his way around animals; the bone knife he uses, he likely carved himself. Would you like me to draw a picture of what I think he might look like?” 

Gaping, Jack stared at the slightly twitchy, trembling man in front of him. This was not a Sweet William that the public knew. For a brief moment, Jack wondered if a burst of violence would accommodate Sweet William’s curt, impatient words. Would he slap Jack? Would he spit at his feet? Perhaps shove him in order to gain the physical distance he typically desires? 

“Please call a taxi,” Sweet William suddenly said. “I wish to go home.” 

“The autopsy-” 

“I can read the report, later,” Sweet William snapped. 

Before Jack could argue further, O’Doherty whistled. A carriage pulled up to the curb within moments, O’Doherty dutifully opening the door and waiting for Sweet William, his gaze fixated on the curb. Flummoxed, Jack threw his hands up into the air. 

“ _Fine_. I will call on you in the evening.” 

“Maybe in the morrow, sir,” O’Doherty suggested, eyes still on the ground. Jack’s chest swelled with the intake of angry breath he was currently gathering so he could yell at full volume. “Sweet William won’t be able to help us if he’s not feeling well.” 

Sweet William walked elegantly past Jack, the angry air in his lungs deflating immediately. The young man smelled like a wilted bouquet, the slightly acrid scent of dying flowers clinging to his skin and clothes. Resisting wrinkling his nose, Jack turned his chin in the opposite direction, only his eyes following the young man. When next to O’Doherty Sweet William reached up to gently touch the officer’s cheek, a flush springing on the man’s skin in response as he did his best to not jerk away or press into the touch. Sweet William murmured something, O’Doherty nodded stiffly, and then the door to the carriage was shut and the horses took off. 

Clearing his throat, O’Doherty drew to attention. “I apologize for steppin’ outta line, sir. He just- today he seemed a little… more delicate than usual.” 

Jack’s jaw dropped. “More _delicate_ than usual?” He repeated. “The kid was nearly feral!” 

“I-” O’Doherty took his hat off of his sweaty head, holding it in front of his chest with both hands and meeting Jack’s eyes. “All due respect, sir. But he’s a civilian. Even consultin’, we can’t make him stay if he doesn’t want to. Best not to push.” 

The anger slowly deflating from Jack’s body reared up again. O’Doherty had a point, and Jack wasn’t interested in pushing a civilian too far, that much was true. But at this point a third body would be in another kitchen before they got any further into the case. Throwing his hands up, Jack put his fingers in his mouth for a whistle, calling the police buggy. Grumbling to himself, he clambered inside, moving with the sway of the buggy under his heavy steps. 

They had a lot to do today. He didn’t need Sweet William distracting him anyway.

\--

Officer Kerr, the responding officer, was standing in Jack’s office in the back corner. In the chair in front of Jack’s desk was a mousy woman, pale-skinned with nearly black hair. She wore no corset, her clothing of a lower class; a maid, she had revealed. Her white bonnet was in her lap, her trembling fingers holding a mug of tea. 

“I know you told Officer Kerr already,” Jack said in his most gentle voice possible, “but please tell me what you saw.” 

The woman, Angela, nodded into her tea, speaking quietly. “I came to the house at sunrise. The very first thing I do is check the back garden- harvesting at first light yields the best vegetables. It took perhaps an hour to do that. The keys to the front and back door are different, I don’t have a key to the back door. So I-” she paused to lick her lips. “I went into the front door and saw the- the disarray.” Her eyes closed tightly. “There was so much blood. I,” she choked back a sob, “I dropped the basket and ran out the front door. Officer K-Kerr was on his morning patrol on the corner and I ran to him to tell- to tell him-” She then burst into sobs, nearly spilling her tea. Officer Kerr was quick to take it, setting it on the desk and shooting Jack a nervous look.

Smiling to cover up his sigh, Jack put a small check on Kerr’s report to annotate that the stories had matched. He wasn’t totally useless. 

“What was your relationship like with Mr. Willemsen?” 

“I helped with everything,” Angela sniffed. “He was a very independent man. Never fancied the ladies. He loved his work and he loved his beautiful home.” She waved a hand idly, Kerr stepping forward to questioningly put a handkerchief in it. Satisfied, she brought it up to her nose for a wipe. “He was very nice. Never raised his voice even when I m-messed up.” 

“Is there anyone you can think of that might want to hurt him?”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, sir. He was an angel.”

Nodding slowly, Jack checked his notes. “Did Mr. Willemsen know a… Paul Christianson?” 

Angela blinked owlishly. “Mr. Christianson and Mr. Willemsen were… well, perhaps not as close as friends, but not as distant as acquaintances.” 

Inhaling slowly, Jack said, “Mr. Christianson was found dead as well. The crime scenes were nearly identical.” 

Falling back in her char, the tears swelled anew in Angela’s eyes. “What on earth is going on here?” She whispered. “How- who could-?” 

“Is there anyone you can stay with?” Jack asked as kindly as possible. 

“My sister,” Angela said, dazed. 

“Officer Kerr will take you to her. Please return if you think of anything else you wish to share with us.” 

As soon as Jack was alone in his office, he let out a blustery sigh. He yelled, “O’DOHERTY!” 

From down the hall O’Doherty hurried to Jack’s open door, saluting before entering. “Aye, sir?” 

Jack stood from his desk, grabbing his hat and coat. “Time to visit Miss Katz. Our victims knew each other.” 

“Aye sir,” O’Doherty said, a new edge to his voice. 

_Finally,_ Jack thought, knowing it was mirrored. _A lead._

\--

“They knew each other, huh?” Beverly _hmm_ ’d in thought. “Did they know Thompson?” 

“They all gambled together,” Jack said. His arms were tight over his barrel chest as he glowered at Willemsen’s clean body on the gurney.

“How many other men are in the gambling party?” Asked Beverly. She looked mad, in her long white coat, rubber gloves, and safety glasses. Jack was thankful she was on their side. Her mind was… a special kind of creative. 

“Jackson is working on tracking them all down,” said Jack. Beverly poked and prodded at the wounds. Willemsen’s stomach had been sewn up, the contents of it laid out on a different table. Glancing between the body and the innards, Jack swallowed. “Why… aren’t his insides _inside_?” 

“Oh!” This time Price piped up. “Some of them are missing. We are trying to determine what is missing, and if the same things are missing from each body.” 

A shiver went up and down Jack’s spine. The smell of formaldehyde and alcohol and God knows what else were fighting to see which scent could get stuck in his nostrils quicker. “Are the wounds consistent?” 

“Aside from the different symbols, yeah,” Beverly said. She sent Jack a curious, slightly accusing glance. “Where’s Sweet William?” 

“He wasn’t feeling well,” Jack gritted through his teeth. 

She arched an eyebrow. “He wasn’t… feeling well.” Her eyes then narrowed. “Will you be sending him a message later?” 

“Yes,” Jack replied, mildly insulted.

“Good.” She waved a hand to Zeller, who’d been stuffing something into a test tube using forceps. “Can you make some quick sketches of the bodies?” 

“What’s quick?” Zeller asked. 

“Sweet William will need the drawings by sundown.” 

Zeller sent her a flat look. “That’s four hours away. There’s three bodies.”

She sent him a sunny smile. “Get to work.” 

For all their oddness, it was… refreshing, somewhat, to see two older men taking direction from a young woman. Jack wasn’t of the mind that women were inferior--not after marrying Bella, a force to be reckoned with--but some men still weren’t catching up to the times. Zeller and Price clearly respected Beverly. Jack respected her, too, which was why he took her raised eyebrows and curt tone. Her closeness to Sweet William meant that she would favor him over Jack any day, but Jack wouldn’t let that get in the way of business. 

At least, not on his end. 

Zeller grabbed a drawing pad and some charcoals from a bookshelf before disappearing into the other room where the other bodies were being held. Three bodies in less than two weeks; it was a miracle they were still on the slab. As it were, no family was around for any of them. No one was rushing to give them a proper burial. Jack, in a macabre sort of way, was thankful for that. 

“Aha!” Price exclaimed. In his gloved hands he held up a strange, lean piece of meat. “The left kidney is missing in all three bodies.” 

Beverly frowned, then said thoughtfully, “People can live with one kidney. If that’s part of the ritual sacrifice… it seems odd that the killer would then murder his victim.” 

“Odd, indeed,” Price said, sounding all too pleased with himself. His coat was covered in gore and viscera, up to his elbows and chest. Jack idly wondered why doctors and scientists leaned toward white clothing if they were going to eventually get sullied.

“What were your findings with the professor?” 

Beverly leaned her hands on the cadaver table, uncaring that she was so close to a corpse. “Professor Du Maurier is incredible. It’s like every single space in her brain has a file to access relating to any subject known to man.” She smiled fondly. “I think Sweet William would like her. She asked me to draw some of the letters from the bodies, and I couldn’t recall them precisely, but she seemed to know their vague origins: Europe. She thinks Celtic of some sort.” 

“Celtic?” O’Doherty piped up, his eyes dropping to the body. He shook his head, “Beggin’ your pardon, lass, but tha’s no Celtic I ever seen.” 

“She said it wouldn’t be precise- the symbols seem to be _derived_ from known magic but are their own thing altogether.”

“A new magic?” Price asked. 

“I think just… unknown. It’s still ancient.” Beverly looked down at the body in front of her. “How it came to America seems to be a mystery.” 

“Our colonists were European,” Price pointed out. “Who knows what they brought with them? Witches were one thing, but so many cultures came overseas… who’s to say something still undiscovered came, too?” 

Still wary of the “magic” talk, Jack couldn’t help but nod. “Perhaps it’s an heirloom? Lineage. Something taught down generations in a family.” 

Beverly snapped her fingers. “That’s a good thought, Detective. Old family history.” 

“We first need a suspect pool,” Jack thought out loud. “If we can even narrow it down to… half a dozen men, we could interrogate and research them to figure out which one of them it is, from this information alone. What of the flowers and herbs?” 

“Rosemary, which can be grown in a windowsill anywhere,” Beverly walked over to a desk far away from the mess, picking up a sheaf of paper and scanning it. “Gourdon flowers, irises, cloudberries and…” She blinked. Her eyes furtively met Jack’s, like she hadn’t fully read the list before taking it from the professor and going on her way. 

“Well?” Jack’s patience was dangling by a thread. 

“Sweet Williams,” Beverly said quietly.

The entire lab went silent. Jack, Price, O’Doherty, and even Zeller--who poked his head out of the other room--stared at Beverly in disbelief.

“The very flower that our own Sweet William is named after?” Jack confirmed. A pit started to form in his stomach, heavy and thorned.

Beverly licked her lips. “They’re common enough-- any of these flowers and herbs can be grown in a local garden with the right care and attention.” 

Jack started rubbing his thumb against the tips of his fingers. “Do you understand the implication of this discovery?” 

Though her eyes were still bright with mystery and revelation, Beverly let out a scoff. “Implication? That- what, Sweet William is our killer?” She folded her arms over her chest, narrowing her gaze at Jack. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” Jack said, and then added: “Yet.”

“Sweet William is smarter than everyone in this room combined!” Beverly exclaimed. “There’s no way that he would commit a crime and be stupid enough to leave his namesake behind! Or any evidence, whatsoever!” 

“No matter the evidence, Sweet William is tied to this case,” Jack said, trying to keep his voice rational. “He knew of the symbols- their meaning. Their intention.” 

“And that makes him guilty?” Beverly asked in disbelief.

“I said no such thing,” clarified Jack. “His involvement in the case is… convenient.”

“You brought him on!” Now Beverly threw up her hands, before pointing a dainty finger directly at Jack. She may as well have pointed a gun at him, for the way the action pierced through his chest. “Don’t allow your insecurities about this case cloud your judgment.”

Stung, Jack fell quiet. In theory, Sweet William would make a wonderful suspect. Strange, aloof, intelligent. He clearly believed in the application of practical magic, and perhaps even in the invocation of gods and demons. Jack had never encountered anything like this case, and he just so happened to bring on what might be the only person in the entire city who could make heads or tales of it.

Then again, it had been Count Lecter’s recommendation that he ask Sweet William for help. Sweet William had come without second thought. He was difficult to read, but not impossible. 

Inhaling through his nose and letting it out of his mouth, Jack released his suspicion. It twisted him up to do so, but Beverly had a point. He couldn’t jump to conclusions, despite the body count. This was a meticulous case with a meticulous killer, and he needed to keep his wits about him. 

Sensing the release of his accusations, Beverly relaxed as well. “What did Sweet William say about today’s body?” 

“Quite a bit,” Jack said dryly. Then, remembering, “He said that our man may have visited your Professor Du Maurier.” 

Beverly blinked wide, then tilted her head. “She didn’t mention anyone coming to her looking for symbols like this, but I didn’t necessarily tell her that I was investigating a crime.”

“Go back,” Jack ordered, “and see what else she has to say. Take notes of the symbols on today’s body and make a composite. Sweet William said each new body has a new part of the spell on it, and with three bodies it might actually make some sense to her. Spell out a sentence or something.” 

“Right,” Beverly agreed. 

“Have Zeller send the drawings and your notes directly to Sweet William when he is finished.” 

Beverly hesitated a moment, before asking quietly, “Did he really seem unwell?” 

Jack looked away to avoid her gaze. “I… may not have helped the situation.” 

Beverly snorted. “You can be a real heel sometimes, Detective.”

Scowling, Jack harrumphed. “I’m aware.”

“You’re going to apologize, right?” 

Jack whipped his head back to the scientist. “What?” 

She rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest and leveling him with a rather scary glare. “Apologize. To Sweet William. He’s-” she licked her lips. “He’s more sensitive than you think he is. He… _feels_. A lot. It’s like…” she drummed her fingers over her bicep as she tried to put her thoughts into words. “It’s like emotions are contagious to him. He can read people like books. He’s not a mind-reader, but he’s fairly close. That’s why he seems so closed off sometimes. That’s why,” she hesitated, then said quietly, “that’s why there are rules to follow.” 

Jack blinked. He had never given thought to the reason for the rules. He knew they existed, therefore he--and most everyone in the city--followed them to the letter. It never occurred to him that the rigid rules were in place because Sweet William was _sensitive_.

Clenching and unclenching his jaw, Jack finally nodded. “First thing in the morning, I will apologize.” 

“Good,” Beverly said, her tone raising once again to mildly disapproving. Then almost cautiously, “That’s not the only reason for the rules, Detective. But it’s one of them.” 

Putting on his hat, Jack gave her a small nod before turning to leave the lab, O’Doherty at his heels. 

There seemed to be two mysteries at hand: the killings of these men, and the distance of Sweet William.

Sweet William, who with each passing day, seemed more and more not of this Earth.


	3. Chapter 3

Even in the midmorning sun, Lecter Estate was draped in shadows. The windows were dark, stubbornly non-reflective of the sun. The grounds were silent, barely a breeze rustling any of the beautiful greens lawns, neatly landscaped with flowers and ancient statues. The police carriage was a loud avalanche in comparison to the peace of the grounds. Jack watched the mansion come into view, a strange knot of anxiety forming in his chest. It wasn’t often he felt this way--he was a man of confidence and charisma--but after Sweet William’s departure yesterday and the ensuing near-argument with Beverly… Jack was on edge.

At the porte-cochère Chiyoh greeted him with her usual impassiveness. There didn’t seem to be anything that affected her, positive or otherwise. It was mildly unsettling, but then again, he reminded himself that every occupant of the Lecter Estate was their own brand of strange. Chiyoh led him up to the open door of the mansion, silent on her feet, dressed as usual in masculine clothing with her hair pulled up in a severe, slick bun. Inside the foyer she held out her hands, likely to take his coat and hat, but he politely declined with a stiff smile. He was wary of getting too comfortable in Casa de Lecter.

Chiyoh motioned him once more. He followed her into a formal sitting room, decorated in velvet and gold and rich, dark mahogany. He sat on a chaise at her idle gesture, glancing around as she busied herself assembling a tea tray at the bar against the far wall. His back was straight, a few beads of sweat gathering on his brow. Sweet William had made such an abrupt departure yesterday and, yes, Jack was well aware that he had argued with both Sweet William and Beverly, but the subject matter of all of this mystery was… pushing him greatly outside of his comfort zone. Logical and rational, Jack had never given magic of any kind a second thought. Not witches, not old wizards of England; he even had a hard time wrapping his brain around the voodoo of his great grandma--which had been lost when she passed and his own mother moved them to the city.

The case on its own was enough to rattle a person, the violence of the crime scenes its own brand of terrifying. But throwing in the possibility of some… madman thinking he could summon a god by desecrating his victims and taking their kidneys? Jack took his handkerchief from his coat pocket, mopping his face with it. 

“Detective Crawford.” 

Count Lecter’s voice drew his attention to a hidden alcove of the tea room, where there appeared to be another entrance. Chiyoh had finished setting up the tea tray and was already gone. Swallowing, Jack stood up to properly greet the count. “Count Lecter. Thank you for seeing me.” 

“It is better you come here than I intrude upon your home,” Count Lecter said, his mellifluous voice smooth and nearly jovial. He picked up the tea tray and took a seat across from Jack, setting the platter down with nary a clatter. Jack sat as well, his slightly trembling fingers betraying his nerves. “Sweet William was in quite a state when he came home yesterday.” Though Count Lecter’s voice was cheery, there was a clear barb to his words. 

“It was my mistake.” Jack was a stubborn man, but he knew when to apologize- and he also knew when to walk on eggshells. The last thing he wanted was to get on the count’s wrong side. The man had never been in trouble with the law, but then again, he had never had to summon the police in order to get his point across. 

“Miss Katz said that you were in something of a mood yourself,” Count Lecter said casually, bringing his teacup to his lips for a sip. He pinned Jack to the sofa with his maroon eyes, a nearly invisible brow arching. “The subject matter of these crimes is hard for anyone to understand but surely, Detective, you are not as close-minded as you made yourself out to be.” 

Beverly came to Count Lecter’s estate to tattle on him. Great. Whose side was she on? Jack picked up his teacup, careful to quell the trembling of his fingers. “This is a world unknown to me, Count Lecter. Surely you understand that there must be an adjustment period before I fall into it blindly.” 

“You cannot be blind when your eyes rest on it, right in front of you,” replied Count Lecter. He gracefully set his teacup on the saucer, putting both down on the coffee table. 

“That which I see cannot always be believed. Up to this point in my life everything has always had a rational, logical reason. The thought of magic disrupts my way of thinking.”

“Why?” Count Lecter asked plaintively. “Magic is a rational, logical reason for Sweet William. And Miss Katz. As well as myself. It is not about belief, Detective. It is about evidence. As of now, the evidence points to a magic user doing his best to complete a summoning spell.” He crossed one leg over the other, lacing strong fingers over the bend of his knee as he leveled Jack with his gaze. “Whether or not an actual god is summoned cannot be proven until it happens. But magic is afoot, Detective. You will not proceed any further in this case until you accept that.” 

Quietly, Jack mulled over Count Lecter’s words. He was right, of course; aside from magic, there was no other path to follow. Even lunacy was hard to pin on the killer- not with such organized crime scenes and clear intelligence boasted from the carvings and the patience to wait until the men were truly alone before attacking. As much as his brain told him not to, his gut couldn’t help but listen to Count Lecter’s words wholeheartedly. Stifling a sigh, Jack took a sip of his tea. “You would be right, of course, Count Lecter.” 

The smile Count Lecter gave him was sharp at the edges. “As I tend to be.” 

A flutter sounded from the alcove from which Count Lecter had appeared in earlier. The noise drew Jack’s attention, and he nearly choked on his tea when Sweet William, draped only in an oriental silk robe, entered the sitting room. His curls were wild and soft-looking, shiny with cleanliness. His skin was flushed healthily, his delicate hands holding the robe shut at his chest even though the sash was tied firmly around his svelte waist. His bare feet jingled as he walked, decorated with their usual jewelry. 

His eyes, though. They had regained their sharpness, their intelligence, their strength. Gone was the shaky, insecure man that had stood in front of Jack the day before. Without the veil Jack could not meet them, dutifully looking at the high point of Sweet William’s flushed cheek. 

“Detective,” Sweet William’s musical voice was quiet in volume, but loud in measures. 

Awkwardly, Jack stood up. “Sweet William. I-” he licked his lips. As a man who wasn’t used to being wrong, in any situation, apologizing was something he had difficulties with. If it wasn’t his wife, he wasn’t typically interested in groveling. But Sweet William was eyeing him curiously and, knowing he needed the young man’s expertise, Jack straightened his spine. “I apologize for my behavior. I realize that my head has been inside of a box. You’ve opened the lid and shown me things I could never admit existed. Whether or not an actual god is summoned, our killer is doing his best to invoke ancient magic, and it would do me well to listen to your expertise.” 

“Apology accepted,” Sweet William said simply. Jack gaped in disbelief as the young man joined Count Lecter, draping himself over the man’s lap so elegantly he was like water pouring over a tree. Jack hadn’t been ready for Sweet William to accept his apology so readily. Just as he was about to open his mouth again, Sweet William interrupted. “The flowers and herbs found with the bodies are traditionally Baltic in origin. With the proper conditions they can be grown here in the city.” 

Derailed by the subject change, Jack swayed slightly on his feet before seating himself once more. It was incredible, the change in Sweet William. Jack had only witnessed this transformation once before, yet it still unnerved him even now. Yet, as back to normal as Sweet William seemed, he was still… fuzzy around the edges. Like a candle flickering in the sunset.

Brain catching up, Jack said, “The symbols were at first thought to be Celtic, but they’re not any Celtic anyone knows.”

“They’re not Celtic,” Sweet William said decisively. He draped his arms around Count Lecter’s broad shoulders, resting his cheek in the crook of the doctor’s neck and regarding Jack through lowered lashes. The way he was sitting, a long, graceful pale leg extended from the slit in his robe. Jack felt no attraction to the young man whatsoever, but that didn’t mean his beauty wasn’t distracting. “I examined the page of the symbols lined up."

Clenching his jaw, Jack removed his hat and set it on the sofa next to him. "And?"

"Our killer is after power. A great power." Sweet William was liquid on Count Lecter's lap, the doctor still as a statue and quiet as death as the young man used him as a throne. "The symbols are runes similar to those used in ancient summoning rituals."

"What do they summon?" Jack asked. He now knew to stuff his disbelief and continue on with the investigation as though he believed every word and nuance around him; it internally pained him to play into it, but it would be his detriment to not.

"I have to do more research to find out.” 

“Should we ride to Professor Du Maurier today?” 

“Bedelia?” Count Lecter suddenly spoke, his voice colored with poorly concealed annoyance. “Bedelia Du Maurier?” 

Jack was caught off by the doctor’s interruption. “Yes. Her.” 

The count’s eyes flashed dangerously. He was an unmoving river rock, rapids crashing against him, his voice menacing. “Do not bring her in on the case.”

“Her expertise-”

“I have _forbidden_ Sweet William to hold court with that woman,” Count Lecter said coolly. He didn’t raise his voice, yet Jack still felt scolded. Sweet William today seemed to have regained his elegance, but his usual presence and charisma was dampened. He didn’t even flinch with Count Lecter’s harsh words. He was like a life-sized doll on the man’s lap, eyes unseeing even as they focused on Jack. _Was_ he better?

“Then perhaps you will finally accompany me on an errand for the case I originally invited _you_ in on, Count Lecter,” Jack said through his teeth. He was starting to think these men were more trouble than they were worth.

“Dr. Du Maurier and I have a troubled past,” Count Lecter explained. The corners of his eyes were tight, the man clearly pained to be admitting that he was not revered by the entire population of the city. “I, nor Sweet William, will consort with her for any reason whatsoever. If you wish to speak to her, so be it. But you will do so without us.” 

“Beverly has already spoken with her,” Sweet William surmised.

“She has,” Jack confirmed.

“Then send her again.” 

The urge to throw something and smash it nearly overcame Jack. Instead he stood, adjusting his coat with tight fingers and tense shoulders, trying to get a handle on his anger. He knew not of Count Lecter’s past with Professor Du Maurier, and so he could not have foreseen the wrench that contact would throw into the investigation. Beverly was smart, beyond intelligent, but she wasn’t an investigator, and she did not know what questions to ask Professor Du Maurier beyond intellectual curiosity. 

Deciding against voicing these thoughts aloud, Jack said, “I will see her myself.” 

Sweet William’s turquoise eyes flashed hot in shadows, the brunt of them scalding Jack’s eyes for just a moment when their gazes accidentally caught. Or was it accidental? Jack hadn’t meant to look at the young man and yet his eyes had strayed. There was a ferocity, now, holding Sweet William’s body taut. No longer was he lounging on his throne. He was a feral cat laid up in a tree, eyes stalking his next victim from a safe distance. 

“We can solve this without her,” Sweet William’s voice trembled slightly in anger. 

“Why should we?” Jack knew he was pressing buttons, but he was tired of being kept in the dark. Whether or not he truly believed in magic, he didn’t like being on his back foot during an investigation, no matter who was consulting. 

“One more body,” Sweet William said, “and the spell will be complete.” 

“How do you know that when you claim to not know the language?” Jack’s anger started to rise again. There was a vein popping at his temple.

“You must trust me.” Sweet William coiled tensely before he stood, unfolding himself rigidly yet still gracefully from Count Lecter’s lap. He adjusted the robe around his trim figure, covering himself up completely save for his head, hands, and feet. Even as he stood, regal as a King, his figure fuzzed like a ghost trying to enter the realm, tendrils of his existence sweeping and slipping into the shadows. 

Unable to help himself, Jack threw up his hands in dismay and anger. “Fine! For fuck’s sake, fine.” He was furious. At Count Lecter and Sweet William for being so stubborn and vague, at himself for being desperate enough to ask for their assistance. “I will see myself out.” 

And he did.

Chiyoh did not meet him to escort him back to the carriage. He got inside the cab, slammed the door shut, and then stuffed his hat onto his head angrily. 

One more body, Sweet William had said. 

What a price to pay for answers.

\--

Professor Bedelia Du Maurier was simultaneously not at all what Jack was expecting, and exactly what he had been expecting. She was a small woman, petite and beautiful with perfectly coiffed blonde hair and sharp, steely blue eyes, comfortable in a nearly-formal dress where she sat at her ornate, hand carved cherrywood desk. The hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stood, a reaction similar to that which he experienced when in Count Lecter and Sweet William’s companies. She looked intense, her emanating presence thrice the size of her physical one. 

Her lecture hall was a yawning auditorium filled to the ceiling with benches, an academic version of the Colosseum. It was bright, it was sunny, and it--and she--was visually the exact opposite of everything to do with Lecter Estate. She may remind him of the strange couple, but she wasn’t them, Jack told himself. 

A small hand gestured for Jack to sit in the chair across her desk. “Good morning, Detective Crawford.” Her voice was smoke on the water, cool like whiskey and smooth in cadence. She sat as well, her body shifting elegantly to accommodate the modest crinoline under the dress. She was a person, clearly, who was wholly comfortable in her body and the elements around her. 

“Professor Du Maurier, thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Jack started. He wrung his hat idly in his hands, before he rested it in his lap. “Have you heard of the recent murders?” 

Professor Du Maurier tutted softly, a small frown creasing her features in what seemed to be a facsimile of concern. “I have. Tragic.” 

The concern was a show, Jack could tell. He was trained to read people. She wasn’t _really_ perturbed by the murders, but then again, aside from shock and horror, the people of the city didn’t seem to be too bothered--it wasn’t happening to them or anyone they knew, so why should they care? There was something… off, about Professor Du Maurier, though. He couldn’t put his finger on what, precisely. 

“Miss Katz visited you the other day to ask about some herbs and flowers that were found on the scene.” 

She didn’t even look surprised. “Yes, she did.” 

Jack paused, then asked, “Did you know they were from the crime scenes?” 

“One can put two an two together from the papers, Detective Crawford,” she said, without an ounce of wryness in her tone. She was almost… blasé. Dry. 

“Then you are aware of the ritual our killer is trying to complete?” 

Her head turned to the left, her eyes straying out the large windows lighting up her lecture hall. Outside the sky was blue, not a cloud in sight, its magnificence rivaled in the hue of her eyes. “I am aware.” She finally said at length. 

Jack suddenly had the impression that Professor Du Maurier might be as cryptic and annoying as the occupants of the Lecter Estate. “Do you know which ritual, specifically?” 

“If I were you, I would ask the Count,” Professor Du Maurier said smoothly, turning her head to meet his gaze. 

Ice cold.

She was ice cold.

Licking his lips, Jack resisted the urge to fidget. This tiny woman would not intimidate him. “I have consulted him and his ward.” 

At that, her blank face colored with interest. “Is that so? And now you are… here? Asking me?” 

“I’m sure you’re aware of what it is like to convene with Count Lecter.” 

“Sometimes, too aware.” Professor Du Maurier sighed, the action ill-fitting to her otherwise elegant, untouchable demeanor. After a moment, she said, “The language is old Lithuanian.” When Jack didn’t reply, she arched a perfect eyebrow. “Do you know where Count Lecter hails from, Detective?” Again, silence. Now she looked amused, the expression somehow… malignant, on her lovely face. “He is from Lithuania.”

Jack’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Before he could open his mouth, Professor Du Maurier spoke again.

“Sweet William, however… he hails from nowhere and everywhere. He is everyone and no-one. He is from overseas, he is from our homeland, he is wherever he chooses to be.” The cadence of her voice took on a nearly poetic beat, her manicured nails drumming idly over her desk. “Count Lecter did not kill those men, Detective. I am sure that neither he nor Sweet William know the killer personally. But someone is trying to get their attention, and since you brought Sweet William onto the case… you have succeeded.” 

“Why would they not tell me they know the words?” Jack wondered aloud, unable to help himself. He was flabbergasted, quite honestly, that they’d withheld information from him, but judging by Professor Du Maurier’s amusement and his own gut feeling, he shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Because,” Professor Du Maurier let out a smokey chuckle, “then the interesting people would become people of interest.” 

\--

Detective Jack Crawford did not return to Lecter Estate. He instead went to the lab, unsurprised to find Beverly Katz working on a very gruesome looking autopsy of what appeared to be a young boy. 

“Detective!”

He couldn’t see her smile beneath the bandana she had tied around her nose and mouth, but he could see the tilt of her eyes through her glasses. “Miss Katz.”

“I’m studying the effects of tuberculosis in the adolescent body,” she explained unnecessarily. She pulled a sheet over the mangled body, then took off her gloves and walked over to the wash basin to cleanse her hands and arms. “His parents were very kind to donate his body to the lab to be studied.” 

“Lovely,” Jack said blithely.

“How can I help?” She asked once she was free of her protective clothing.

“Do you have a copy of the notes Zeller took to Sweet William? I would like to see them.” 

“Oh,” she nodded, waving her hand for him to follow. They exited the main lab and went not into the room with the refrigerated bodies, but to a smaller, office-type room. It was packed to the brim with filing cabinets and organizers, sheafs and stacks of paper strewn about in some strange, unknown semblance of organization. There was a desk buried by textbooks against a wall, and that is where Beverly surfed through a few items before picking up a manila folder and holding it out to Jack. “Here you go. Has Sweet William had any luck? He hasn’t messaged us.”

Lying, Jack said, “He is taking his time. I thought I would look through the notes as well.” 

“Right.” Beverly peeked over his shoulder at the notes as he flipped through them. “Did you see Professor Du Maurier?” 

Beverly was a lot smarter than he ever gave her credit for, and he was an idiot for it. “I did.” 

“She didn’t say she knew what the words were, but I had a feeling she was lying to me,” Beverly intoned. 

“She was,” Jack replied. 

Beverly grinned wide. “I always knew I’d make a good cop. There aren’t any ladies on the force-” 

“May I borrow these?” Jack interrupted. 

Hiding a pout, Beverly nodded. “Sure. I have a third copy of them somewhere. Zeller’s hand hurt for days but I took him to that really nice restaurant on 53rd to make up for it.” 

“Thank you, Miss Katz.” Jack held up the folder in salutations, then turned to leave. Beverly _was_ incredibly intelligent, and clearly much sharper than he ever admitted. He needed to look through these notes alone, however, without anyone else’s influence. 

On his way home he stopped by the library, asking the lady at the large, beautiful counter if she had any Lithuanian texts on hand. She was old, knobby and bony knuckles trembling as she flipped through the card catalogue, before giving a shaky smile and nodding. She was even slower in leaving and returning with a dictionary and a book on folklore, kindly asking after him and aiming for small talk, which he dodged as politely as possible. 

It wasn’t until he entered his front door that he breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Jack?” Bella’s soft voice called from the living room.

Quickly taking off his hat and coat, he walked briskly to the living room where his beautiful wife was laid out on the sofa, a thin blanket stretched over the length of her body and a book in her hand. Even with her recent bout of illness she was stunning as ever, always beautiful in Jack’s eyes. He crossed the room to sit down gently on the sofa next to her legs, reaching out to take her outstretched hand. 

“I missed you,” she said softly with a smile.

“And I, you,” Jack replied with unfettered affection in his voice.

“Are you working on that case?” She asked, honey brown eyes filled with fond exasperation. “You have a wife at home who would love your company.”

“And unfortunately there are families who need closure on their loved ones,” he replied, this old song and dance memorized well by both of them. 

Her eyes glanced to the folder in his hands. Her cheeks were rosy today, a great improvement from her ashen tone the day before. Her lips curved into a smile. “A Lithuanian dictionary? You know how to tell me you love me in three languages already.” 

Chuckling softly, he lifted her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles tenderly. “I won’t stop until I can say it in all of the known languages of the world, baby.”

Softening her eyes, she withdrew her hand from his grasp to reach up and gently stroke over his temple, down to his jaw. “Your hair is greying, Mr. Crawford.”

“And yet you seem to only get younger,” he murmured softly, turning his head to kiss her palm. 

“Have you been to see Count Lecter and Sweet William?” 

“I have.” 

The smile on her lips became matronly. “Such lovely men. Count Lecter has been bringing me care packages, did you know? He leaves them with the nurse… but I read his notes.”

Jack blinked rapidly. “He… has?” 

Bella nodded and hummed softly. “He regrets that we cannot attend his dinner parties, due to my health, so he sends me goodies to tide me over. Incredibly thoughtful. I wish I could put on my best dress and attend one of his feasts. I hear they’re to die for.” 

Smiling softly, unable to be hard against the clear tenderness in his wife’s voice, Jack reached up to hold her hand against his cheek. “What does he send?”

Her eyes lit up, but when she inhaled it came out in a flurry of coughs. In her other hand she held a handkerchief, which she covered her mouth with until the fit passed. When it did, she was still smiling warmly. “The most lovely array of cured meats and aged cheeses. Sometimes he even sends soup to be reheated. And always, _always_ , flowers- the kinds of which I have never seen.” 

Something clicked over in Jack’s mind. “Where do these bouquets go?” 

“In the nurse's quarters. I like to look at them and smell them while receiving treatment.” 

“He doesn’t visit you personally?” 

“He says the mystery is good for my health. Keeps me guessing,” Bella said with a warm, sweet chuckle.

Standing up, Jack placed the documents and books in his hands on the tea table. Doing his best to not move in a way that would panic his wife, he measured his pace as he bent over to press a loving, tender kiss to her forehead. “I think I’ll go have a nibble on those treats.”

“Jack Crawford,” Bella laughed a little louder, cheeks flushing prettily. “Don’t you eat all of my goodies, now.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said with a small chuckle of his own.

Leaving his wife was always a difficult thing, even when he was only moving to a different room in the house. A renewed vigor had gripped him, however, and he went into the nurse’s quarters with his shoulders set in determination, trying to keep his breathing under control. Pulling back the partition of the examination area, he felt his breath stop up in his chest, his eyes widening at the sight that greeted him. Had he truly gone so long without being in this little room? Seeing his wife undergoing any sort of treatment or examination tended to nauseate him with anxiety, but he honestly didn’t think it had been so long since he’d been by her side.

The fragrance of the room hit him first, his nostrils flaring automatically to try and inhale more of the scent. As strong as it was, there were no scents warring with one another; his eyes could see a dozen, perhaps more, different types of flowers in beautiful vases covering nearly every surface. They were vibrant, healthy. A few flowers were wilting, likely on their way to dying, but Jack knew that before they met their end Count Lecter would send more to replace them. True to Bella’s word, many of the flowers Jack did not recognize. Some were vibrant in color, some were muted. Some had intricate designs on their petals, some looked- well, to be frank, like genitalia. But they were all unique, and all surely breeds that were not native to the region. 

A prevalent blossom caught his attention, however. Sweet Williams of varying colors were accents in many of the bouquets, their sweet smell dominating nearly all of the others. Jack walked around, his fingers out to touch each of the bundles of sweet Williams; red, pink, purple. Letting out an aggravated sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. What was Count Lecter doing, sending his wife these goods? What was the meaning of it? Sweet William flowers were Sweet William’s namesake, of course. Perhaps it was the count’s way of including his ward in his well-wishes. The man was polite enough to send Bella gift baskets; it was just his nature. Exceedingly, excruciatingly polite. 

Among the flowers, however, were pops of color that caught Jack’s eye. 

They were the berries present at all of the crime scenes. 

Feeling his breath hitch and his heart slow, Jack spun in in a cautious circle, taking in all of the vases separately. Nestled among the baby’s breath were cloudberries, bright orange in color, luscious and juicy, exactly like the ones found strewn amongst the viscera pulled from the bodies. 

Cloudberries, identified by Professor Bedelia Du Maurier during Beverly’s visit. 

Jack’s throat tightened. 

The interesting persons Count Lecter and Sweet William were now, indeed, persons of interest.


End file.
